Skydiving
by Freelancer
Summary: Albus and Minerva look for an adrenaline rush… the Muggle way. (belated birthday fic for Lanzer)


**Disclaimer**: If it belonged to me, it wouldn't be "fan fiction," would it?

**A/N: **HAPPY (VERY BELATED) BIRTHDAY LANZER! Sorry it's like… two and half months late. I also realize there's no way anyone's first skydiving jumps would be anything like how they're portrayed in the story. Just pretend. :o)

* * *

It all started when Albus Dumbledore decided to make a list of everything he wanted to do before he died.

Though he, ever the optimist, anticipated that it would still be many years before he faced the inevitable fate that caught up to every man, he had no idea how often between now and then he would find the time to be able to do some of the activities on his list. He was, after all, the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and that was a very demanding position that took almost all of his time and energy, even during the summer holidays. If and when an opportunity came, he was not going to pass it up.

Time came and went, and sure enough, an opportunity did indeed appear. It came shortly after the end of the 1989-90 school year. It was not a very wide window, but it was wide enough for Dumbledore to arrange to participate in perhaps the most highly-anticipated activity on his list. It really _was_ the perfect time; the wizarding world had been at peace for almost nine years, and advancements had been made which increased the safety of his desired undertaking drastically. If there was any time to do it, it was now.

However, he still lacked one thing: someone to share the experience with.

"You can't be serious."

Minerva McGonagall had heard some pretty crazy schemes out of Dumbledore in the half-century they'd known each other, but this was by far the craziest.

"Of course I'm serious," Dumbledore had replied with a slightly indignant tone to his voice. "All the arrangements have been made. I need only to find someone to join me, and I should like very much for that someone to be you, Minerva."

"Not for all the scones in Scotland."

Two days later, she found herself seated in the rear compartment of a twin-engine plane flying four thousand meters above the surface of the earth.

"First time, eh?" the pilot had said when she and Dumbledore boarded the flying bucket of bolts some fifteen minutes ago. "Well, personally, I don't see why anyone would want to jump out of a perfectly good airplane, but if that's your cup of tea, then more power to ya."

Then he winked, gave a hearty laugh, and turned his attention to the control panel, where he cursed at an instrument Minerva felt certain was vital to the operation of the craft.

The pilot's words returned to her as she and Dumbledore each put on a brightly-colored nylon suit over their Muggle clothes. She tried to get rid of her fear by thinking about the fact that the pilot had obviously not been in a fatal crash yet, but it wasn't working. She could certainly use a cup of tea right now. Or better yet, some firewhiskey.

There were five people besides the elderly witch and wizard making the jump, and all were either experienced or very good at hiding their fear. They were also young, athletic, healthy-looking people. There was a man in his late twenties who looked Spanish, two more men a few years younger who appeared to be brothers and spoke with strong Scottish accents, and three girls full of energy talking and giggling amongst themselves – a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead. None of them showed any sign of fear. Minerva couldn't help feeling just a little ashamed. Gryffindors were known for their bravery, but this group of Muggles showed far more courage in the face of danger and almost certain death than she.

"Isn't this exciting, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked, zipping up the front of his bright orange nylon suit.

Minerva was so distracted that it took her a moment to recognize Dumbledore and realize that his question was directed at her. To blend in more with the Muggles, he'd cut off his beard until it was little more than stubble (it would grow back within a week's time anyway – he'd never been able to wear it short) and pulled back his hair into a single long braid. He'd even contemplated dying it back to the auburn color of his youth, but Minerva managed to convince him that one act of stupidity a day was plenty. As it was, he looked like a very old hippie, and she didn't want it to get any worse.

"'Exciting' is hardly the word I would choose, Albus," she mumbled in response, fumbling with the zipper of her own fluorescent green jumpsuit.

"Let me help you," Dumbledore said, taking the zipper in his hands and gently guiding it up the length of her body. "Nasty Muggle inventions, these zippers." He smiled. "And just relax. You're going to love this."

"Relax?" she repeated. "How can you expect me to relax?" She let out a heavy sigh and stared at the ceiling, where a light fixture was swinging back and forth ominously. "I don't know how I let you talk me into this."

"Neither do I, come to think of it," he said cheerfully. He touched his finger to her chin, gently guiding it downward so she was looking into his eyes instead of the flickering light bulb overhead. "It will all be over soon."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she muttered, then broke away from him and sat down on a bench bolted into the wall.

Sanctuary was not to be found here. As luck would have it, she was sitting next to one of the girls – the brunette, who promptly looked over and extended her right hand. "Hi!" she said. "I'm Kit!"

Judging by the girl's accent, Minerva guessed she was from New Zealand. _Could be worse_, the witch thought. _She COULD have been American_.She reluctantly shook Kit's hand out of politeness. "Min-" she began, but upon realizing that Minerva was probably a very unusual name to a Muggle – which the girl clearly was, and Muggle from New Zealand at that – she decided to give her dreaded childhood nickname instead. "Minnie," she finished, trying not to cringe.

She hoped the conversation would end there, but this didn't look like her day for miracles. "First jump?" Kit asked brightly.

_Is it really THAT obvious?_ Minerva thought. "Yes." Then, not wanting to be rude, she said, "Is it your first, too?"

Kit shook her head. "Third," she said, and smiled charismatically. Indicating her companions, she added, "It's Liv's third, too, but it's Kar's first." She leaned in close to Minerva and whispered, "Kar's a little nervous, but we don't count her because she's from-" and then mouthed the word, "California."

Apparently that was supposed to be funny.

Minerva glanced over her shoulder at the blonde and redhead. They didn't seem nervous at all. The blonde was chatting with one of the Scottish brothers about Japanese animation and looked happy as a clam. The redhead, on the other hand, had taken interest in Minerva and Kit's conversation and was now headed their way.

"Hey Liv!" Kit said as the redhead sat down on her other side. She then proceeded to introduce her to Minerva and explain the situation.

"Don't be nervous," Liv said promptly to Minerva.

_An American_, Minerva realized, recognizing Liv's accent. _Dammit_

"It's really no big deal," Liv continued. "Frankly, I'm rather looking forward to getting out of a machine designed, built, and flown by people I watched get drunk at frat parties." She stood and beamed. "Ta."

All of a sudden, jumping looked more attractive than before, but neither path promised anything at its end other than a grisly fate.

A few moments later, their guide, Vince, a tall, handsome man of twenty-six with hair and skin darkened and lightened by the same source stepped into view, wearing a neon yellow jumpsuit. "We all ready to go?" he asked, flashing a smile that would have made Gilderoy Lockhart jealous.

Without waiting for a response, Vince continued. "Right, then, we're going to have a terrific jump today. Oh, and don't worry, ma'am; we haven't lost a client yet."

Then he chuckled. Dumbledore did, too, and so did the Spanish man. Minerva, who knew well that Vince's comment was directed at her, blushed slightly and stared at the floor.

Vince talked them through the rest of the procedure, including the principles, kinematics, differential equations, and quantum physics behind skydiving, with the poise and confidence of a seasoned expert. He made it seem as easy and safe as getting up in the morning, which, Minerva was certain, was just a line they fed to the nervous patrons who had unwillingly been talked into participating by their employer. She thought back to all the liability forms she and Dumbledore had to fill out back on the ground. If skydiving was so safe, how come all that was necessary?

She didn't feel any better as the eight of them put on their parachutes. When Vince came around to check if everything was on properly, he said her straps were too loose and tightened them for her. It felt like she was in the clutches of Devil's Snare, and she glared at Dumbledore. He didn't notice; he was staring out the window and stroking the prickly remains of his beard, which already looked longer than it had that morning. Minerva was determined to get him back for putting her through this – if, of course, they survived.

Vince opened the hatch. "Okay, here we go!" he shouted. "Remember, rip it, roll it, and punch it!"

Minerva began reaching into the pockets of her jumpsuit. The Scottish brothers were the first out of the plane.

"Minerva, what are you looking for?" Dumbledore inquired.

"A blindfold," was her answer. "And a cigarette."

Dumbledore looked as though he was finally getting annoyed with her. "For pity's sake, Minerva, this is skydiving, not death by firing squad!"

The Spanish man jumped next.

"What's the difference?" Minerva returned. "Death is death no matter how it happens!"

The three stooges, Kit, Kar, and Liv jumped next. Kit did a backflip, Kar did a cannonball, and Liv did something that looked like what happens when one watches too many kung fu movies.

Dumbledore gripped her shoulders and forced her to look into his eyes. "I would never," he said compellingly, "ask you to do _anything_ that I knew you wouldn't live through." Except teach first-year Transfiguration, but he wasn't going to get into that. "You _know_ this."

"Hey, you two jumping or what?" Vince asked.

Minerva closed her eyes and nodded. "I know."

He reached for her trembling hands, then glanced back at Vince and gave a thumbs-up sign.

Vince returned the thumbs-up and winked.

They jumped.

For the first few seconds, all Minerva could do was squeeze her eyes shut and prepare for impact. When death didn't come, she opened one eye, saw only blue, shut it, opened it again, and then opened the other. Dumbledore grinned at her; it was not returned. How could he be _enjoying_ this? Floating there in the air, with his orange jumpsuit and beard stubble and long braid of white hair being blown vertical.

_I swear, Albus Dumbledore, if you survive this and I don't, your ass is haunted!_

Dumbledore let out a, "Wahoo!" and turned several flips. He looked at Minerva and saw that she was still floating spread-eagle, trying to slow herself as much as possible. "Come on, Minerva!" he shouted above the roar of the air whipping by them. "Live a little!"

_Seeing as how I probably don't have much longer to live_, Minerva thought, _I guess I should take your advice, you crumple-horned snorkack._

She did a flip.

And loved it.

Minerva had experienced many thrilling and wonderful sensations in her life – first Animagus transformation, flying a broom through a dragon reserve in Sweden, slapping Marinus Malfoy across the face one day in her fifth year – but none of them compared to inverting herself while in free-fall. She was a control freak, and falling like this, having no control over it, was something she'd never done before or even imagined.

She'd lost control and she loved it.

Dumbledore caught her eye and beamed when he saw the transformation that had taken place. He'd always known she had it in her, but she suppressed her wild side to the point where no one believed it existed, not even her… but he knew better. This adventure was just as much for her as it was for him. And it was good.

"I told you so!" he shouted.

She smiled sweetly at him and began to spin. Then she looked down. She'd never imagined how beautiful the countryside would look from up here. Brooms didn't go this high; she never would have seen it had Dumbledore not talked her into this. She knew they were falling fast – dozens of meters per second probably – but the ground didn't seem to be rising to meet them very fast.

Dumbledore checked his altimeter. They had about forty more seconds of free fall before they needed to pull the parachutes. He made his way through the air over to Minerva and held out his hands. She took them in hers, and together, they continued to fall.

After a few more exhilarating moments, Dumbledore let go of Minerva's hands and pointed to the rip cord. She nodded, put some distance between them, and pulled the cord. A violent lurch upward knocked the wind out of her, and she cringed; it certainly must have bruised her rib cage. But a few bruises were better than death by far. Her descent had slowed to only a few meters a second; hardly a fatal velocity. She felt completely at peace.

Her feet found ground about a minute later, and her giant yellow parachute billowed down around her like a cloud. By the time she'd untangled herself, Dumbledore was doing the same fifteen meters away. Too excited to contain herself, Minerva quickly shed the parachute and associated equipment and ran at the tall shape beneath the other parachute.

"That was AMAZING!" she cried as she tackled Dumbledore and enveloped him in a bear hug. "Let's do it again!"

He replied, but his voice was muffled by the parachute. Minerva quickly released him and stepped away. He finished pulling the parachute off him and beamed at her. "All right," he said, "but _you're_ paying."

"Fair enough."

Their eyes met, and in only the way that a near-death experience can spark such a revelation, they realized their deep, profound, everlasting, all-that-and-a-bag-of-chips love for each other. It was only natural that their next act would be a passionate kiss that brought them both to their knees.

Their moment was interrupted by three somewhat familiar voices a short distance away.

"Oh… I think I ruptured my spleen…"

"Will you shut up about the spleen thing? It's been like a year."

"That's not your spleen, it's your stomach! It's hungry for some muffin cake!"

Dumbledore and Minerva broke apart, only to see Kit's smiling face above them. "Care to join us for muffin cake?"

The elderly witch and wizard exchanged a glance, and MInerva spoke for both of them. "Of course we will, Kit." After all, they had just survived skydiving – how dangerous could Kit's cooking be?


End file.
